


This Flame that Burns Inside

by Tikini



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Actual Magical Lube, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And most importantly, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Fluff and Smut, Hinting at Freddie Mercury/Jim Hutton, Light Resraint, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Mentioned John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff, Must fuck weekend 2020, Oral Sex, Pining Idiots, They're Professors!, a lot of smut, very slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tikini/pseuds/Tikini
Summary: He still remembers it clearly - the cold February morning, the rain falling all around them, his body bruised and aching after a rough but satisfying match. And Roger’s warm hand shaking his tightly, his blue eyes bright and smiling as they face each other on the muddy Quidditch pitch.- - -🌟Or Dealor Hogwarts Professor AU🌟
Relationships: John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 19
Kudos: 52
Collections: Queen Must Fuck Weekend





	This Flame that Burns Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Good evening, lovelies!
> 
> Here comes my piece for the Must Fuck Weekend 2020! And what a weekend we're having! I'm over the moon with these amazing stories! 
> 
> I chose the prompt Love Potion and have written a lil Hogwarts AU! I'm by no means a HP expert so I've just been playing. But boy was it fun!
> 
> Since there is love potions involved, part of this fic will be dubious consent. 
> 
> Thank you so much to theSchubita and emma_and_orlando for cheering me on and brainstorming!! <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title from It's a Kind of Magic by Queen

The storm cloud far above their heads, up in the enchanted ceiling, is growing. 

It’s mildly troubling.

Not that it _should_ be. The ceiling is just a decoration, a live show of great magic. Even if it rains, you _should_ not get wet. And, if the lightning strikes, it _should_ just give you a pleasant tingle in your fingers. 

However, Professor May is in charge of the enchantment today, as most days, and while he is a splendid wizard, truly one of the greatest magicians John has ever met, he’s terribly distracted at times.

This afternoon the Charms Professor is unusually spacey, his mind, literally, in the clouds. If it wasn’t for having been drenched by a violent bout of rain just yesterday, John would have paid it no mind, but as it is, he can’t stop himself from peeking at the steadily darkening cloud nervously.

“Are you not going to finish those?” 

John shakes his head and Professor Taylor, who’s dining next to him at the teachers’ long table at the front of the Great hall, quickly grabs John’s plate and starts wolfing down the remains of his pumpkin pie.

On Professor Taylor’s other side, Professor Mercury looks disgusted. “Please, Roger dear, one would believe you’re a first year at this school, not a Professor.”

Roger rolls his eyes and washes the last of the pie down with some butter beer. “Sod off, Freddie. Like you’re so much better, ogling the new Herbology Professor like a love-sick teenager.”

“Oh, but that man was made for ogling.” Freddie purrs, resting his chin on his elegantly folded hands as he leans over the table and gazes past Roger and John, his dark eyes fastened on the man at the end of the table, Hogwarts’ newest recruit, Professor Hutton.

Roger scoffs and leans back in his seat, drying his hands on his dark robes. “Have you even talked to him yet?”

“No! Of course not.” Freddie looks scandalized. “These kind of matters need to be handled with a certain finesse. Not that a Gryffindor brute like yourself would understand that.”

A smirk stretches Roger’s lips, his blue eyes amused as he watches Freddie. “Hmm. I might be a Gryffindor brute, but _I_ have at least managed to talk to your new crush. Just this morning, actually. Seems like a nice bloke. Oh!” His grin widens as Freddie scowls. “And Deaky here, he’s already made friends with him! Right?” He throws an arm around John’s shoulder and pulls him tight against his body.

John almost chokes on his butterbeer and desperately tries to keep the blush from his cheeks as he awkwardly coughs into his sleeve.

“Is that true?” Freddie is watching him like a hawk.

“Eh,” John says, “friends is a strong word. We’ve talked a bit. I showed him around when he first got here.” 

Roger’s body is warm and solid next to his… This close John can smell the sweet, fresh scent of his shampoo. The other man’s face is so close, so close John can make out every single eyelash framing those incredible eyes, so close he can see how...

“And?” Freddie throws his glossy, dark hair over his shoulder, briefly trying to catch Professor Hutton’s eyes before returning his gaze to John.

Fuck, what was he talking about now again? “Um. Oh, yeah I showed him around. He’s very nice, actually. Uh, seems honest. The decent type.”

“Decent?! Oh, damn, the poor man doesn’t know what awaits him.” Roger throws his head back and laughs, the sweet, hoarse pitch of his voice sending goosebumps down John’s spine. 

Freddie rolls his eyes. “You act like I’ll try to hex him or something.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.”

“Excuse me? That’s blatant prejudice. Not all Slytherins act like that and you know it!”

“Oh? Then please, enlighten me, what _did_ happen that time with former Professor Minns?”

Sparks fly from Freddie’s temperamental dragon heart wand which rests on the table next to his bowl. He glares heatedly at Roger, his long, slender fingers creeping towards his wand.

As the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, John is confident Freddie knows more bothersome spells than him and Roger combined.

He needs to cut in before the two Professors get into a fight.

“Talking about love hexes!” He throws out, slamming his hand down on the table so hard it makes the other two jump. “Didn’t you say you were making love potions at class today, Professor Taylor? How did that go?”

Roger looks a bit taken aback. “Oh, fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. Most of them still don’t know how to count, or know the difference between clockwise and counterclockwise stirring, but otherwise, good, yeah.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit risky?” John shakes his head. “Teaching teenagers, and 16-years-olds at that, to make love potions?”

Roger waves him off. “Nah. I taught them an adult recipe. The magic will only work if an adult drinks it, and the first person they see is also an adult. The students won’t get anywhere with that. Besides,” he winks at John, and the blush he’s desperately tried to contain the entire evening blooms onto his cheeks, “I took away the potions, after. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“If you say so…” Freddie drawls, tracing the rim of his wine glass with his pinky. “I’m just saying, it’s not like it would be the first time one of your concoctions caused mayhem all throughout school.”

Roger turns to face the other man, which is just as well because John is sure he more closely resembles a beetroot than a human at this point, and raises his eyebrows in a faux innocent expression. “What was that, Fred? You want a potion to give to dear Professor Hutton?”

“You fucking piece of shit!”

A few seats down, Professor May finds a meat ball in his vegetarian pasta. He drops his fork with a shocked gasp.

Above their heads the ceiling rumbles ominously. 

The next second it starts pouring.

John is soaked to the bone within seconds.

\- - -

It’s late when John finally leaves his classroom. He’s only taught two classes today - Muggle Studies really isn’t one of the more popular subjects at school. However, as head of Hufflepuff, he also has other duties.

Just now, he’d been in an hour long talk with a poor first-year boy who felt out of place and didn’t know how to make friends. John had somewhat recognized himself in the young boy - he’d also been quiet and shy when he first came to Hogwarts, all those years ago. Of course, John had also been muggle born, which hadn’t made things easier.

He had been lucky to be placed in Hufflepuff, where, in John’s completely unbiased opinion, most of the kind and accepting students were. He didn’t even want to start to think about how he’d have fared in Slytherin. Although, Freddie Mercury isn’t a pureblood, either. And he’d been one of the most popular students in Slytherin. 

John really likes Freddie and has always felt a tad disappointed he never really had the opportunity to get to know him in school. Freddie is John’s senior by five years and had only been around for John’s first two years as a Hogwarts student. John had known about him though, from the very first day. Everyone knew about the extravagant and powerful Slytherin student.

Brian May, who John consider to be his friend, now, he barely even saw during the three years they went to school together. The former Ravenclaw student had been Head Boy, top student in almost all of the classes and basically lived in the library all through his last years at Hogwarts.

Roger Taylor though, well. That was a different story altogether. While John hadn’t shared any classes with him and belonged to a different house, Roger had always been impossible to miss. Loud, cocky, handsome and smart, the Gryffindor student had been one of the most popular students at Hogwarts. John had developed a crush on him from the moment they met. 

He still remembers it clearly - the cold February morning, the rain falling all around them, his body bruised and aching after a rough but satisfying match. And Roger’s warm hand shaking his tightly, his blue eyes bright and smiling as they face each other on the muddy Quidditch pitch.

John sighs, rubbing his temple as he walks through the dark corridors on his way to his private chamber.

If his schoolboy infatuation would have stayed just that, it would have been fine, almost sweet, really. But, no.

He had been teaching at Hogwarts for two years, before Roger came crashing back into his life, even more irresistible than what John had remembered.

That had been roughly one year ago, now. And John is losing his bloody mind.

He has tried everything - _everything_ , to get over his feelings, but nothing works. Not dating others, not ignoring Roger for a week (alright, for four days since John was weak and couldn’t resist Roger’s sad puppy eyes), not spells.

He is well and truly fucked. Love-struck and miserable. And Roger, while appreciating John as a colleague and drinking partner, has never shown any romantic interest in John. Ever.

Letting out another deep sigh, John rounds the corner and steps out into a narrow corridor. It is a shortcut to John’s chamber, the route he usually takes.

And, if Roger’s chamber happens to be on the way, then that’s a lucky coincidence, really.

John is close to Roger’s door when he sees a dark gestalt, lurking next to a statue of a proud donkey. Eyebrows raised, John lifts his wand and mutters a quiet _Lumos_.

The gestalt jumps in fright and lets out a squeak. 

John calmly walks up to the student, recognizing her as one of his own Hufflepuffs, a sixth-year called Emmy Thornberry.

“Miss Thornberry.” John greets her dryly, taking in her unusually short skirt, tousled hair and red lipstick. Her sweet, heavy perfume makes his nose itch. “It’s past curfew. Why are you skulking around outside Professor Taylor’s chamber at this hour?”

Miss Thornberry straightens up, putting on an innocent smile even as her cheeks burn red. “Professor Deacon, sir. Professor Taylor promised to go through our last Potions test with me. I failed, sir, but Professor Taylor thinks I have potential.”

“Mmh.” John nods slowly. “A bit too late for extra tutoring, don’t you think?”

“But Professor Taylor said…”

“ _If_ ,” John rolls his eyes, “Professor Taylor told you to come to his office, past curfew, which I have a very hard time believing, then why are you lurking out here, miss?”

The girl opens her mouth, tries to think of an answer but fails. Instead, she scowls up at John. “Alright, then, _Professor_. Maybe I wanted to visit Professor Taylor. Give him a present to show how much we appreciate him.”

“How sweet.” John says. “However, it’s still past curfew. Ten points from Hufflepuff. Now hurry back to your dorm, Miss Thornberry.”

“Professor Deacon.” Miss Thornberry spits, before turning on her heel and marching back down the corridor.

Shaking his head, even more tired than before, John walks up to Roger’s door and knocks.

Immediately, the door is slammed open. John just barely manages to jump out of the way before he gets hit in the face.

“Yes?” Roger calls distractedly, bent over a small, golden cauldron.

John stares at him, his throat dry.

The sweet smelling steam from the cauldron has made Roger’s hair curl at his temples and at his nape. He’s ditched his robes, only wearing tight trousers and a white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up over his forearms. His cheeks are flushed and on the table next to the cauldron, stands a half finished glass of red wine.

“P...professor Taylor.” John manages to find his voice, awkwardly standing just outside the door.

“Oh, John, it’s you!” Roger sounds delighted, lifting his head from the cauldron and beaming at John.

John swallows, averting his gaze to babble at Roger’s fancy carpet. “I just wanted to tell you that one of my students was…”

“It’s _you_.”

John pauses, frowns. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, John.” Roger practically sings, his voice low and sweet like honey. “I’ve always wanted to tell you… You are _so_ damn hot, like bloody hell.”

What.

Gaping like a fish out of water, John lifts his eyes from the floor and stares at Roger. 

The other man’s eyes are huge and dark as they roam over John’s form. Roger licks his lips. “You handsome devil, you.”

“Err.” John says.

Roger grabs his wand from his back pocket, and impatiently waves it in the air. John is grabbed by the lapels of his robe and dragged across the room at lightning speed, shouting in horror.

Roger deposits him in front of him in a winded heap.

John just has time to hear the door slam shut with a loud bang and look up, wide-eyed, his hair a mess, before Roger is upon him.

The older Professor wraps his arms around John, squeezing him tightly as he coos happily and nuzzles John’s neck. “Aaaah, John! You’re a delight!”

Encompassed in Roger’s warmth, feeling his body against his own and his pleasant scent in his nose, John needs a moment to gather himself.

“Professor Taylor!” He squeaks, pushing Roger away none too gently and straightening his robes. “What on earth are you doing?”

Roger pouts at him, his large eyes hungry and playful. “Don’t you know? Come on…” He purrs, again stepping up to John, lazily waving his staff and making John’s robes fall open and slide down his shoulders.

John gasps, feeling exposed and very confused, in his shirt and trousers. “Professor Taylor, this is not…”

“Call me Roger.” Roger whispers, before leaning in to place his lips on John’s.

Oh. 

Is he dreaming? Has he fallen asleep in his classroom, again? There is _no_ way this is happening. No way his wish, his desire, is finally coming true.

A cheeky tongue teases over his bottom lip and John groans.

No. Wait. Wait a minute.

Stop.

Something isn’t right here.

John manages to pull back from Roger’s addictive lips, muttering half-formed protests as the older man just sighs and buries his face in John’s shoulder, mouthing at the skin of his neck.

He remembers how Miss Thornberry had been waiting outside… 

Roger’s clever fingers starts on the buttons of John’s shirt and John bats them away with a scandalized yelp, grabbing Roger by the shoulders and trying to push him away.

Hadn’t Roger taught a class about love potions earlier this day?

The Potions Professor whines pathetically and clings tightly to John’s midriff, refusing to let him go. 

John looks up, panicked, his gaze honing in on the half full glass of wine by Roger’s workstation.

“Professor Taylor,” John wheezes, “that wine... “

Roger licks a burning hot trail up John’s neck, making him shiver in the best of ways. “I told you to call me Roger…”

“Roger,” John says, putting his hand over Roger’s face and gingerly keeping him away from his neck, “where did you get that wine? Did a student give it to you?”

Roger giggles and presses his tongue against John’s palm. “Mmhm! One of my Potions students, a girl… Eh, Bushberry or something. It’s very good! You want some?”

“Fuck.” John mutters, his blood turning cold.

Of course. That’s why the girl had been waiting outside. To knock on Roger’s door and make him fall for her. She probably had no idea the potion only works on adults… And John, brilliant as he is, of course had to go check on Roger, therefore making him the target of the other man’s obsession and dooming them both. 

Oh, god.

“You told us you seized all potions after your class!” John hisses, panicked sweat breaking out all over his body. 

“Yes, I did.” Roger sighs happily. He’s managed to shake off John’s hand and leans in to nuzzle his cheek. The friction from his slight stubble sends tingles all over John’s body. 

In his pants, his cock is rising to attention. Fuck.

John swears and gives Roger a rough push, making him stumble away a few steps. “You’ve been drugged. That wretched girl’s given you a love potion.”

“No, it can’t be.” Roger says breathlessly, immediately rushing back to plaster himself to John’s side once again. “I’ve always wanted you, Deaky. Please, I want you so bad.” His voice is taking on a desperate edge as he presses his hips against John’s.

John freezes when he feels the older man’s clothed erection rubbing up against his hip. 

“Please, John.” Roger murmurs. “I want you, always have. Don’t you want me, too?”

Shaking his head, John desperately tries to get his brain back on track. He needs to do something. Roger has been drugged and isn’t himself. John is _not_ going to take advantage of that.

“You don’t.” He mutters, his throat thick with misery and frustration. “You don’t want me, Roger, come on. It’s just the magic talking.”

Fuck. What is he supposed to do? Is there an antidote? Should he just leave? A small, dry voice in his head, eerily similar to the voice of his own old Potions Professor, reminds him that leaving might not be a good idea. That a victim of a strong love potion might throw themselves out their window should they be rejected.

John lets his eyes roam over the room, doing his best to ignore Roger’s sweet gasps against his neck as the older man ruts frantically against him. His eyes falls on Roger’s workstation, on the glass of wine, the golden cauldron, and next to them, Roger’s thick potions book.

“You’re so handsome. And so, _so_ funny! And cute. And your arse…” A hand suddenly appears on his backside, squeezing roughly. 

Again beet red, John slaps Roger’s hand away and stumbles out of his reach. “Stop it!” He growls, loud enough to make Roger stare at him with wide, glassy eyes. 

“Go sit down.” John orders, pointing to the plush couch standing in front of the fireplace. “Sit down, be quiet, and behave. You understand?”

Roger nods quickly, his cheeks flushed and his eyes dark and glassy. “Oooh, bossy. That’s hot.”

“Merlin’s beard! Sit down!”

Roger does.

John doesn’t bother to pick up his robes, instead he hurries up to Roger’s workstation. He first sniffs at the wine, and winces when he picks up an alien sweetness that’s not supposed to be there. How Roger missed it, he has no idea. 

Next, he turns to Roger’s book, brushing the other man’s reading glasses out of the way before flipping through the pages looking for the potions register.

John pales as he realizes that there isn’t one love potion recipe but several. Swearing colourfully he finds the right section of the book and scans the recipes.

The further he reads, the paler he becomes.

It will take at least three hours to make an antidote, and you’d need to be a skilled potions maker to succeed, which John (regrettably) is not.

A drugged witch or wizard will become needier and needier the longer the effect goes on for. Needy in what way, depends on the kind of potion. Some potions just make you infatuated and giggly. A kiss on the lips would be enough to break that spell. But, others makes the drinker crazy with lust and demand sexual activity for the effect to diminish. 

And, as John had feared, the worst thing you can do, is to leave a love potion victim on their own.

Crap.

Double crap.

John has no idea what to do about this. 

One small relief is that Roger probably won’t remember this in the morning. According to the recipes, most love potion drinkers luckily has no recollection of what happens while the spell works its magic.

Should John get someone to help?

John groans deeply, tugging at his short locks.

He doesn’t want to get someone. 

It’s to save Roger from the humiliation, he tells himself. And it’s because it would be awfully embarrassing, if anyone saw them like this. But, deep inside, he knows that it’s mostly because he doesn’t want anyone to see Roger like this, flushed and desperate.

John glances at the glass of wine.

It would be so easy… To take a sip. To turn to face Roger and get sucked down into the same vortex of lust and passion the other Professor is caught in. John could just... let go and follow his heart. He could finally have Roger. Completely.

But, of course he can’t. He’s not that kind of person. Who’d take advantage of the situation like that.

While this might be his only chance to ever have Roger, he won’t take it. Not like this. is not what he wants.

He hears a quiet mutter behind him, and suddenly, the room is quite cold.

Roger’s magicked away John’s shirt. 

Exasperated, horny and frustrated John whirls around and shouts _Expelliarmus_ at Roger, quickly ridding the other man of his wand.

Blue eyes glimmer at him as Roger leans back against the couch, unbothered, admiring John’s half naked state.

“Roger!” John grabs Roger’s wand out of the air and puts it down on the bench. “Stop it.”

The older man just pouts at him and spreads his legs on the couch.

“Don’t want to stop.” Roger whines, his hands stroking over his thighs. John’s treacherous eyes follow the moment and he feels his throat go even dryer.

Roger lets his head fall back over the back of the couch, one of his hands teasing over his crotch as he gasps and writhes. “Please…”

John stares at Roger, at the way he rolls his hips into his touch, at his messy hair and flushed skin. At his shirt falling open over his chest, half of the buttons undone.

Fucking hell. This is going to end him. 

“Please, John.” Roger says again, his voice raspy and deep. “Please, touch me?”

He wants to so bad it hurts. But John shakes his head.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Roger peers at, his lids heavy over his dark eyes. His long, dark lashes brushes over his cheeks as he arches his hips against his working hand. “Don’t you want to? Don’t you like me?”

John doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the crackling fire in the fireplace. While he can’t leave Roger alone like this, he doesn’t have to watch him put on the show of the century.

“I like you.” Roger moans. “So much. I’ve always liked you, Deaky.”

“Bullshit.” John rolls his eyes, stubbornly glaring at the flames.

Roger lets out a wounded noise before he groans filthily. “But it’s true. I… I was so lucky, when I came here, to find you. Again. I never forgot about you.”

John can hear soft, slick sounds coupled with Roger’s hitched breathing from the couch. He studies the dark red brick of the fireplace meticulously.

“You… Ah… You’ve always been so kind, and fair. And just… just good, you know? Just a really bloody brilliant man. And I, mmh yeah, oh, I’ve always wanted to get closer to you.” 

_Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t you fucking look._

Roger whimpers. “Please, come here. Come sit with me? I need you.” 

John can hear how the other man shifts, can hear skin moving over skin. Roger moans loudly. 

“It hurts. Please, John? Touch me?”

Damn everything. Damn Roger. Damn Miss Thornberry. And damn John and his weak, pathetic self. He turns his gaze from the fireplace and looks at Roger.

The Potions Professor is spread out over the couch. His shirt is completely unbuttoned now, sliding off his heaving chest. His legs are spread widely, his trousers and pants rucked down to his knees as the blond quickly pumps his erection.

John sways. He’s dizzy.

His blood roars in his ears, telling him to take, to mark, to claim. His cock aches in its confines. John stumbles over to the couch, as if in a trance.

“Oh, yes.” Roger sighs, clever fingers wrapping around his angry red flesh and stroking. “You have no idea what you do to me.” He bites his lip, his eyes squeezing shut as he takes a shaky breath. “I… I can’t stop thinking about you. Dreaming about you.”

John finds himself sinking down on the couch, but at the far corner, as far from Roger as possiblet.

Not that it matters; Roger’s up against his side in less then a second. He buries his face in the crook of John’s neck as he continues to pleasure himself. “You’re gorgeous, John.”

“I’m not.” John croaks. His hands itch with the desire to reach out and touch.

He wants Roger so bad he can’t think of anything else. God. He’s losing his mind.

“Hush,” Roger hisses and presses his teeth to John’s skin in warning. “Yes. You are. Your smile. And your hair. Your legs and butt. I… I love y… your butt.”

John closes his eyes tightly and shoves his hands beneath his thighs. He can’t give in.

“Mm, ah fuck… Mm and I’m sure… I know, that you have an amazing cock.” Roger pants, his voice dreamy and slurred. John can still hear the sweet, slick, slap sounds of him pumping his cock. 

“I’ve thought about it.” Roger whispers, as if sharing a secret. “Thought about getting on my knees in front of you, spreading your robes to the side, opening those sinfully tight trousers and sucking you into my mouth.

Holy fuck.

John’s cock pulses in his pants, screaming at him about what a splendid idea that is.

Roger curls up even closer to John, his hand speeding up on himself. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that. Very much. And I want to kiss you, Deaky. All the time. I want to kiss you until we can’t breathe. I want to kiss every inch of you, cover you in marks, show everyone you’re _mine_.”

John whimpers. This is simultaneously the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

“And I,” Roger shudders against him, the skin of his forehead hot against John’s shoulder, “I want you to fuck me. Oh, god. I can’t stop thinking about it. Your fingers, aah… Fuck, Deaky. I want you to ruin me. Please, don’t you want me? I can’t… Uh.. it hurts so bad.”

He’s close to sobbing now and John finally opens his eyes and looks at him. 

Roger’s stopped stroking himself and is folded over John’s body, breathing rapidly.

“It hurts,” he says, his voice weak. “I need you. Please, John?”

And, in the end, John might be a wizard, but he’s only human. And his friend is in pain. His friend needs him.

(And, this will be his only opportunity to have him.)

Exhaling deeply, emptying his lungs completely, John grabs Roger and tugs him up on his lap, so he’s straddling him.

Roger moans, immediately starting to roll his hips down against John’s.

“You’re a menace.” John squeezes out through gritted teeth. He reaches down between them and grabs Roger’s hot, hard flesh in his hand. “It’s not fair. And I hate you for this.”

The older man lets out a gorgeous, breathy noise and tips his head back, his eyes shut as he thrusts eagerly into John’s hand.

“You want me to fuck you?” John mutters, tightening his hold on Roger on the upstroke and making him yelp. “Tell me.”

Roger wraps his arms around John’s neck, his eyes still closed. “Yes. Fuck, yes. Want you to… unhh. Anything. You can do anything to me.”

“Like what?” John can’t help but to buck up against Roger, his balls so full and heavy it hurts.

Their bare chests presses up against each other and John’s in heaven.

“Want you to fuck me hard, so hard I forget.. ah, there, please. Mm. Forget everything but you. And I want to ride you until you pass out. Want your mouth on my cock. Want everything.”

John rubs his thumb over the head of Roger’s leaking cock and the older man moans loudly. “Yeah? Fuck, Roger… You’re not real.”

“Mm, feels so good.” Roger opens his eyes, watching John heatedly. “You feel so good. Want you… mm, inside me. Want you to hold me down and make me take it, make me scream.”

John shakes his head, stroking Roger harder, his skin growing increasingly wet and slippery in John’s grip. “Please just come.”

“Yeah,” Roger groans, leaning forward to press his lips to the skin of John’s jaw. “Want to. And then you can finger me open and fuck me, after? Please, John? Want you to...”

“Shut up!” John growls and captures Roger’s lips with his own, muffling his sweet gasps and moans and stopping him from putting even more filthy ideas in John’s mind.

Roger’s fingers press tightly into the meat of John’s shoulders, his hips rolling back and forth as he thrusts into John’s grip. He mewls and pants against John’s mouth, easily giving in and letting John lick into his mouth, tongue fucking him lewdly as he twists his wrist and wanks Roger off, rough and dirty.

It takes a few more strokes, John’s fingers pressing bruises into the pale skin of Roger’s hip, before the older man arches against him, his breath hitching in his chest as he comes.

Warm wetness coats John’s fingers and spills over his stomach. He keeps pumping Roger, keeps kissing him deeply though the other man is shaking and crying out, his body half trying to turn away from the pleasurable assault.

John holds him against his chest, stroking and kissing him until Roger sags against him, his body trembling with the aftershocks. He lets him go then. Lets him collapse into his arms and lets go off his spent cock.

Roger presses his sweaty cheek against John’s chest and sighs.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, his breath creating goosebumps on John’s sensitive skin.

John presses a kiss on the top of his head and wraps his arms around him. 

Roger quickly dozes off. 

John stays up, stroking Roger’s back tenderly while staring into the dying fire, his cock rock hard in his pants.

Fucking hell.

\- - -

John’s awoken from his restless slumber by someone knocking insistently on his door. It takes him a moment to gather his bearings and when he does, he groans miserably and burrows his face back into his fluffy pillow.

The someone at the door will have to leave because there’s no way John’s getting up today. Or tomorrow. Or ever.

He’d sat with Roger draped over him, peacefully sleeping, for half an hour, before he realized what a disgusting creep he was being.

So, he’d managed to hoist the other man up into his arms, and had dragged him to his bed, where he’d unceremoniously dumped Roger.

After that, he’d grabbed his robes and fled the room.

As soon as he’d reached his own chamber, he’d wanked off, twice, red-cheeked and ashamed, before hiding beneath his blankets and willing himself to go to sleep.

In the end, the sun was already casting its first light through his bedroom window, before he’d finally managed to doze off.

It’s fine though. It’s Saturday. And he’s not planning to leave his room. No chance.

There’s another impatient knock.

“Go away!” He calls, stubbornly wrapping the blankets tighter around himself.

The knocking intensifies.

“Fucking hell.” John mutters, wrestles the blankets off and stumbles to his feet.

He’s only dressed in his nightshirt as he stomps over to the door, furious. Whoever it is will just have to deal with seeing the usually (somewhat) respectable Professor Deacon with his pale thighs out in the open.

“What?” He snarls as throws the door open.

Then, he freezes, his jaw hanging open as he stares at the person standing there.

It’s Roger

Of _fucking_ course, it’s Roger.

The other man is in his casual clothes; jeans and a jumper. He holds a large bouquet of red roses in his arms. The vibrant colour of the flowers has nothing on the colour of his cheeks as he stares at John, wide-eyed.

“Oh.” John starts, frantically trying to flatten his fluffy bedhead. “Um.”

“I’m sorry.” Roger blurts, averting his eyes to stare at the floor.

John stops, his hands still in his hair.

Oh. God, no. Does Roger remember?!

“Hah,” he tries to chuckle, but it comes out a croak. “Whatever for, Professor Taylor?”

Roger looks up at him then, rolls his eyes. “You’ve wanked me off, Professor Deacon. I do think we’re past formalities, don’t you?”

“...you remember.”

“Eh. Yeah.”

John’s never wanted to drop off the face of the earth as badly as he wants, now. Never.

“But the book said you wouldn’t remember!”

“What, my potions book? You looked in that? That’s very sweet of y...”

“Sweet?! You were literally disintegrating my clothes!”

“Err. Right. I’m really sorry. Anyway, you’ll only forget if the maker of the potion remembers to stir counter clockwise, every fifth stir. And, Miss Rosebush definitely isn’t an ace at potions. She must have missed it.”

“You told us you had confiscated all of them!”

“Well I must have missed one!”

They’re both shouting now, and John belatedly realizes that anyone could walk past and hear them.

He groans, grabs Roger’s sleeve and pulls him inside. The door closes behind Roger, leaving him standing there, shifting awkwardly, again not meeting John’s gaze.

“Look,” he starts. “I’m really, _really_ sorry. I’m so sorry you had to deal with tha… with me.” He’s clutching the roses tightly to his chest, his expression pinched. “I didn’t do my job properly. I was careless. And you had to clean up my mess. I’m sorry.”

John crosses his arms over his chest, extremely aware that he’s only wearing a thin nightshirt. 

Extremely aware that the last time he saw Roger, he was all but naked. Whimpering and begging John to touch him. 

John shakes his head violently. 

“No. It’s… it’s alright.”

Roger hums, a wry smile on his face. “Alright, huh... Yeah. Uh.” He scratches the back of his head. “These are for you.” He rustles the roses weakly. “To apologize. It must have been quite unpleasant.”

Unpleasant is not the word John would use to describe the experience of wanking a deliriously horny Roger off. 

“It’s fine, Roger.” He says, trying very hard to keep his voice calm and steady. “It’s not I who got poisoned. It can’t have been pleasant for you, either. The situation. And I’m sorry I… eh. I touched you. I know it’s wrong. But you…” 

_Were begging so sweetly…_

Roger snorts. “Believe me. It was very _pleasant_. There’s no one I’d rather have wanted to walk in on me, than you, Deaky.”

What.

“What?”

The blond looks up at John, frustrated. “Oh, don’t give me that. For Merlin’s sake, John. You know how I feel about you.”

Feel? About John? What?!

John just stares at Roger, his mouth hanging open. 

What is Roger saying? Is he still under the potion’s spell?

“Nevermind.” Roger says brusquely, marching over to John to press the bouquet into his arms, so harshly that a few of the flowers get squished against John’s chest. “I’ll go. Let’s forget all about it, yeah?”

Arms full of flowers and mind buzzing like the static of an old muggle television, John finally realizes Roger’s trying to leave and manages to reach out and grab his wrist. “Wait.”

Roger waits. His expression is guarded and vulnerable at the same time. 

John’s heart skips a beat.

“What are you saying? Are you saying that you… that you.. Um.”

“Like you.” Roger says tensely. “Yes.”

What the fuck?

“Me?” John says, completely baffled. “But you’ve never… you’ve never said so. I had no idea!”

Roger snorts, again. “Said so? John, I’ve literally asked you out, three times.”

“No. You haven’t.”

“I have! Once to get a beer at the Three Broomsticks.”

“I thought you just asked me as a colleague!”

“Second time, I asked you to sit with me at the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff semi-final.”

“Again, that was as colleagues! How could I possibly know tha...”

“THIRD time, I asked you to go to the yule feast with me. As my date.” Roger takes a deep breath and gently pulls his arm out of John’s grip. “You said no.”

Oh. John feels numb, all over. 

He remembers that.

He’d thought it had been a joke.

“Then you started dating Veronica.” Roger mutters. “So I finally got the memo and backed off.” He looks back up at John, his gorgeously clear blue eyes defeated. “So. I’m very sorry. You had to go through that. I’ll go, now.”

John watches him turn, watches him start towards the door.

“There’s no memo!” John shouts, making Roger jump and spin around to face him.

“There’s no memo,” John repeats, his heart beating fast in his chest as he meets Roger’s confused gaze. “There’s never been one. I ended it with Veronica after three months. You know why?”

Roger shakes his head.

“Because she wasn’t you.” John says, simply. “Because no matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about you. I never realized you asked me out, I didn’t even dare to dream you might be interested in me, too. Roger, last night was the best thing that’s happened to me. I finally got to have you. I finally got to see what it was like.”

Roger’s pretty, pink lips are gaping open. He stares at John, wonder and hope in his eyes. And, something darker, more carnal, just below the surface.

“You… Really?” Roger licks his lips. “You mean we’ve both been oblivious idiots, for a year?”

“I mean that.” John says. 

His mind is swimming. His heart is performing a celebratory dance in his chest. Sparks shoot like firework, all through his body. 

He can’t believe this is happening.

“Roger.” He says, throwing the roses on top of his dresser without looking. “Do you want me?”

Roger takes a shaky breath, his pupils eating at the blue of his irises as John slowly moves closer. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” John murmurs, lifting one hand to cup Roger’s cheek and tilting his face up. “You want me so bad? Want to kiss me until we can’t breathe?”

Roger swallows deeply, lifting his hand to hold John’s against his cheek. “Mm, yes.”

“You want to kiss every inch of me? Want me to be yours?” He leans in close, brushing his lips just over Roger’s. “You want me to fuck you?”

Groaning low in his chest, Roger reaches out for John with his free hand, fisting it in his hair. “Stop using my lust-addled words against me. It’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” John scoffs, moving closer into Roger’s space to press their hips together. His cock has been interested since Roger stepped inside his room and is now steadily filling out. “What isn’t fair, is you climbing all over me, touching and kissing me, begging me to _ruin_ you, when I had no chance to do so.” He grinds his groin against Roger’s hip bone, rejoicing in how the breath catches in the older man’s throat. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

“I’m sorry.” Roger breaths against his lips, closing his eyes, his lips quirking up before he lets the tip of his tongue trace John’s bottom lip. “If you’re still interested, all those offers still stands, you know.”

John can’t believe his luck. He really can’t. 

Pulling back a bit, he takes a long look at Roger’s eyes. “You’re sure you’re good? No more potion in the system?”

“No,” Roger shakes his head. “I even took the antidote, to be sure. I have some, in the cupboard above my workstation.”

While John should feel annoyed that the solution to last night’s problem had been just above his head, all the time, he just can’t bring himself to care. Not now.

“Good.” He says, tightens his fingers on Roger’s face and pulls him closer to press their lips together.

Roger grunts, uses his grip on John’s hair to angle his head differently and deepens the kiss.

They’re both filthy. 

The first brush of lips immediately develops to heated, eager kisses, both of them licking into each other’s mouths, biting at lips and swallowing each others gasps.

John grabs Roger’s hips with both hands and grinds roughly against him, muffling Roger’s moan with his mouth as he rubs their covered erections against each other.

Roger touches his face, seemingly unable to get enough of John, fingers running over his cheek, his jaw, thumb rubbing over the corner of his mouth even as Roger lick past it and thrusts his tongue into John’s mouth.

It’s intoxicating. 

It’s heaven.

Together they stumble towards the bed, Roger tugging on John’s flimsy shirt as they go, John grabbing and kneading Roger’s firm arse.

“What do you want?” John asks when Roger pulls away to wrestle the shirt over John’s head. “You want to tell me more of your dreams? What do you want me to do to you?”

He reaches down to grind the heel of his palm against Roger’s crotch, his other arm wrapping around the blond’s waist and pulling him flush against his body as he rubs at his cock.

“Fuck,” Roger whimpers, his head falling down to rest on John’s chest as he holds John’s biceps in a vice-like grip. “Anything. _Everything_.”

“Mm?” John grins, nuzzling at Roger’s locks briefly before going for his belt. “Anything, huh. So easy for me, Rog. So good.”

Roger huffs, bends his neck, and the next second warm heat trail over John’s chest and talented lips wrap around his nipple. John sighs, about to unbutton Roger’s pants, but then, clever fingers trail down his treasure trail, lightly skating out to brush over a hipbone before wrapping around John’s hard cock. 

“Yes,” John breathes, pausing with his hands cradling Roger’s hips as the older man strokes his fingers lightly over him.

Sharp teeth press gently over his nipple and John swears, bucking his hips into Roger’s touch.

“Good?” 

John can hear the smug grin on Roger’s face. Growling, he tangles his fingers in the messy hair at the back of Roger’s head and tugs harshly, bringing the other man up to kiss him again.

Roger hums into his mouth, easily letting John take control this time as he tightens his grip on John’s hard cock and pumps him firmly.

Molten lava pools in John’s stomach and he gasps, wrapping both arms around Roger to keep him close as the other man continues to touch him.

The air is chilly against his bare back, a sharp contrast to the burning heat at his front.

He realizes, belatedly, that Roger is still wearing all of his clothes while John is buck naked, clinging to the other man as if he’s the cliff in a raging storm.

Roger sucks lazily at John’s tongue and lets his calloused thumb press just right beneath the head of John’s cock.

John whimpers, his mind a lustful haze.

But, he doesn’t want to get off like this, with Roger collected and dressed and _smug_. Nuh uh. That’s not what John signed up for.

Pulling away is hard, so hard John’s surprised he manages, at all.

“What?” Roger looks immediately worried, his pretty brows furrowing as he watches John closely. “Didn’t you want me to…?”

John drops to his knees in front of Roger.

Roger gapes at him, but goes easily when John grabs his hips and pulls him in front of him.

“Off.” John mutters, making quick work of Roger’s jeans and tugging them down his slender thighs. He then helps Roger out off his shoes and socks, before pulling the jeans all the way off, quickly followed by Roger’s underwear. 

Roger’s cock, already swollen and hard and wet at the tip, bounces free and stands proud in front of John’s face. He eyes it, licks his lips, and then looks up at Roger.

Roger stares down at him, his lips spread slightly open as he breathes, his eyes full of anticipation and warmth. 

“You want me to…?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Roger licks his lips, his fingers gently carding through John’s hair before grabbing it at the roots and tugging. “Put your pretty mouth on my cock.”

John lets himself be guided by the strong grip in his hair, splaying both hands over Roger’s thighs for balance as he leans in and sucks the tip of Roger into his mouth.

Roger whines, his hips moving forward to push more of himself inside.

John lets him, briefly, before lifting one hand to Roger’s hip, holding him steady. He closes his eyes, overwhelmed with the smell and taste of the man he’s desired for so long.

Roger tastes salty and musky, and lays heavy on John’s tongue as he slowly pulls back, only to slide forward again, opening wider to take more of Roger’s cock into his mouth.

The fingers in his hair tug painfully hard and John grunts and lets his teeth graze over sensitive skin in warning.

“Sorry,” Roger pants, and when John glances up at him hiss lids are falling shut, the blush on his cheeks trailing down his throat, “It feels so good. You look _so_ good.”

His voice is low and raspy and John’s own cock twitches where it’s hanging abandoned between his thighs.

“Fuck, John.”

The sound of Roger’s groans and gasps are amplified, rolling in John’s head, as he speeds up, letting Roger’s slide all the way to the back of his throat and sucking when he pulls back. He helps the other man move with the hand on his hip, encourages him to roll his hips into John’s face.

“Ah, god. Mmhn… There…” One of the hands in his hair trails down to cup John’s cheek. Roger leaks precome on John’s tongue. He tastes bitter and lovely. “You’re so.. fuck… so good at this…”

John grins up at him, but Roger’s eyes are closed, his lashes fanning out over his flushed cheeks as he bites his lip, doing his best to control his thrusts.

Humming low in his throat, John lets his hand move up Roger’s torso, fingers sneaking beneath his jumper and the shirt under it. He explores lazily, pressing over Roger’s stomach, feeling how his muscle tense as he thrusts into John’s mouth.

His jaw is starting to ache so he pulls back a bit, just mouthing, licking and sucking at the head, stroking the rest of Roger’s now wet cock with his free hand.

Roger opens his eyes to gaze down at him. His pupils are dilated and his lids drooping.

Fuck. John wants to take him apart, piece by piece. Unravel him until Roger forgets everything but John. He wants to become his world.

Something must show in his eyes, because Roger smiles knowingly, his eyes darkening even further.

They stare at each other, Roger’s cock just resting between John’s lips, before John reaches up to pinch Roger’s nipple hard.

Roger hisses and scrunches his nose up adorably, swatting John’s hand away when he continues to twist and tug at the nipple.

“Arse.” Roger mutters and John chuckles as he pulls off Roger’s cock and gingerly gets back on his feet. 

As soon as he’s up, Roger tugs him in for another kiss, impatiently licking into John’s mouth as he grinds his cock against John’s.

The intense, slick feel of hot, hard flesh against his own makes stars explode behind John’s eyelids. 

Roger’s merciless and hungry, grinding against him and moaning ino John’s mouth, his hands everywhere at once, over John’s chest, his arms, down his back, squeezing his backside.

“Hey,” John tries, immediately interrupted as Roger sneaks a hand between his legs and brush clever fingers over his heavy balls.

John moans loudly, arching his back as Roger continues to fondle his sack. Roger moans with him, against John’s jaw, and then he starts trailing kisses and nibbles down beneath his jawbone.

“Hey!” John wheezes again, grabbing Roger by the shoulders and pulling him off himself, none too gently.

Roger looks confused again, for half a second, before John pushes him down on the bed, again none too gently.

Roger goes with an undignified yelp, bouncing once on his butt as he lands on John’s soft mattress. The sheets are still a mess from when John had emerged, but he pays it no mind.

Instead he follows Roger onto the mattress, caging him in with his knees on either side of his hips.

“You could have just asked me to get on the bed, you know.” Roger purrs, wrapping his arms around John’s neck and pulling him down to brush their lips together. “It’s not like I’d have protested.”

John doesn’t answer, just pulls back enough to grab the hem of Roger’s bloody jumper and tugging it up.

Roger whines when he’s forced to let go of John as John wrestles his two remaining pieces of clothing off.

“Merlin’s balls, Rog.” John mutters, letting the garments drop to the side as he stares at he vision laid out in front of him. “You’re stunning.”

“Thanks. Was the first part really necessary though?” Roger says drily, frowning up at him. “Ew.”

Why is he in love with this moron?

John shakes his head and gives Roger’s leg a light slap. “Shut it.”

“Rude.”

“Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Roger shines up. “Yes!”

“Mm, that’s what I thought.” John climbs off Roger, reaching for his bedside table. “Turn around.”

This time Roger doesn’t sass him, but eagerly rolls over on his stomach. By the time John’s located his wand in the mess on his bedside table, Roger’s snatched John’s favourite pillow and pulled it under his face.

Both his hands stroke over the smooth material of the pillow case as he peers at John, his gaze heated and eager. John takes in his messy, fair fringe falling into his eyes, the clean, smooth slope of his back and the sweet curve of his small arse.

He still feels like he’s lost in a dream.

“Come here.” Roger whispers, spreading his legs before shifting to his knees, his hips and arse elevated while his chest stays pressed into John’s bed.

John practically throws himself over, taking his spot just behind Roger. Again, he wonders how in all world he’s allowed this. His hand trembles as he places it on Roger’s flank.

He slowly lets it run down to Roger’s hip making Roger sigh in pleasure and spread his legs more.

To know that he blindly trusts John with this is an empowering feeling. 

John spends a moment just caressing Roger’s smooth skin. Groping at the firm flesh and letting his fingers skate down the back of his thigh before running them back up again, letting them brush teasingly over the crack between Roger’s buttocks.

Roger shifts beneath him, impatient. “Get on with it.”

John sucks a breath in between his teeth, nods and aims his wand between Roger’s buttocks.

“Rectum Lubricatus.”

An ear-splitting shriek makes John fall back on his butt, his wand falling from his grasp as he scrambles back up, panicked. “Oh my god, are you alright? Roger?”

Roger’s back is tense and he looks royally pissed when he glares back at John over his shoulder. “You’re supposed to heat it up first!”

“Oh, sorry.” John winces, awkwardly giving Roger a comforting pat on the bum.

“Are you a sadist? A heathen? Just magicking freezing lube inside someone like that! Don’t you have any manners?”

John’s cheeks are flaming. “Sorry.”

Roger huffs. He presses his face back down in John’s pillow and shakes his hips. “I expect you to make it up to me.”

“I already saved you from the potion, you know.” John mutters, spreading Roger’s arse open with one hand, rubbing at his wet opening with his thumb. “You were a desperate mess.”

Roger relaxes as John rubs over and around his entrance, shuddering all over when John reaches under him to give his cock a few pumps. “Mmhm.”

“So shameless.” John continues, easily pushing the tip of his thumb inside Roger, making his breath hitch. “You were rubbing up on me, talking filth, begging me to have my way with you.”

He stares, transfixed, as his thumb sinks deeper into Roger’s welcoming body. Roger’s tight insides flutters around him. And, the lube _is_ cold. John does feel a bit bad.

“Must have been annoying. Sorry.” Roger groans, trying to push back on John’s finger and whining when John uses his free hand to keep him still.

John smiles and retracts his thumb. Instead he lets his middle and pointer fingers massage and rub at Roger’s rim, before easily pressing them inside. “Annoying?” He shakes his head, fingers pushing in deeper until he’s knuckle deep within the other man. “Any man or woman would have been blessed to have you like that. Helpless, desperate. Consumed by your own lust.” He twists his fingers.

“I’m glad it was you.”

Roger’s voice is quiet, muffled against the pillow. John’s heart feels close to bursting. But, so does his cock. “Me too.” He spreads his fingers wide inside Roger and bends down to place a kiss over his stretched opening.

“Deaky…” Roger says weakly, letting out a breathless moan when John exhales hotly against his chilled skin.

John starts going faster, starts going rougher. He pushes in and out, the lube making it easy to fuck Roger on his fingers. “Beautiful.” He groans, bending over Roger to press his teeth to his tailbone. “So good for me.” He angles his fingers differently, his fingertips searching over slick skin.

Roger whimpers weakly when he finds it, his arse tightening around John’s fingers. 

“Yeah…” John whispers, pressing down firmer and making Roger gasp for breath, fingers tugging on the pillow. “Do you feel good, love?”

“So good.” Roger slurs, hips doing their best to push back on John’s fingers, despite John still holding him still. “Please, I’m so close, John, I’m…”

John kisses each side of his spine, pulling his fingers back from Roger’s prostate. The other man whines, disappointed. “Shh.” John soothes him, pressing a third finger to Roger’s stretched rim and slowly working it inside him while Roger shakes under him. 

John’s own cock is aching between his legs, his balls heavy and full. He shifts closer to Roger, rubbing the head of his cock against the back of Roger’s thigh as he starts thrusting his three fingers in and out. “You ready?” He asks breathlessly, hooking his fingers within Roger and making him sob.

“Yes, yes, god, Deaky, fuck me,” Roger moans, reaching back with one hand to find John’s hand on his hip.

John intertwines their fingers before twisting Roger’s arm behind his back, pressing the back of his hand against the sweaty skin of his lower back. “Beg me.” He fucks Roger harder on his fingers, letting them brush just over his spot.

“Fuck!” Roger chokes, struggling slightly against John’s grip. “Please.”

“You did better last night.” John grins when Roger swears at him. “Asked me so pretty. Was really hard to say no.” 

Fuck, but he’s close, too. His cock is leaking all over Roger’s skin. Sweat is plastering his hair to his forehead and his wrist is getting stiff from where he keeps thrusting and twisting his fingers.

“You’re such a… ah, John, fuck fuck fuck..” Roger’s breathing is fast and shallow and he’s pushing back into John’s thrusts eagerly.

“Beg me.” John orders him, his voice scratchy.

Roger lets out a frustrated cry into the pillow. “Fine! Fucking fine. Please! Please fuck me, John. I need you. I want to come so bad, I want you inside of me, ruining me. Please, I’ll… I’ll do anything.”

Roger’s voice breaks and John can’t keep up his act anymore. He wants this just as much, if not more. 

“Perfect for me.” He murmurs, squeezing Roger’s hand in his before letting him go and pulling out his fingers. Before Roger has any time to complain, John grabs him by the hips and presses inside him with one long push.

The heat and pressure are heaven. John groans weakly, letting his head drop to Roger’s shoulder as he waits, hips flush with Roger’s ass.

He can hear Roger’s heartbeat, can feel it vibrate through the other man’s body and into John’s. Roger pants under him, his arse clenching around John as he gets used to the stretch.

“Move,” he says, at last, hips shifting minutely against John’s.

“You sure?” John nuzzles his neck, one of his hands leaving Roger’s hip to wrap around his cock, again. Roger trembles.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “I can take it.”

John squeezes his eyes shut tightly and starts moving. He goes slow at first, or well, as slow as he can bring himself to go. Smooth, careful slides in and out. Hearing Roger’s hitched breaths every time he bottoms out, his muffled whimpers each time he brushes past his prostate.

“Harder.” Roger grunts, lifting himself off the bed on his arms, getting enough leverage to push back against John’s thrusts.

John happily complies. His fingers slip on Roger’s cock, attempting to stroke him while he starts going harder, slamming his cock deep inside Roger. 

When he thrusts in at the right angle, so hard Roger’s arms almost give way, Roger voice breaks in a high pitched scream. 

Wanting, no needing, to hear that noise again, John does it again, and again and again. Until he’s pistoning into Roger, pulling him back on his cock with his hands on his hips. He’s totally given up on stroking his cock but Roger doesn’t seem to mind.

“Uh… Mmn ah, John. John. Yeah, ah, god,” he manages to gasp out between screams, his voice raw. His head hangs between his shoulders. His cock is dripping precome between his legs and his arms and legs are shaking.

He’s the most wonderful thing John has ever seen. 

And experienced - Roger’s arse is tight and hot around him, each one of his pleasured cries making John’s cock ache with need. The smell of sex in the room is heavy and intoxicating.

He’s so close he can taste it.

“Are you going to come for me, baby?”

Roger groans, his arse clenching tightly around John’s cock when he thrusts harder into him. “Yeah… I’m gonna…”

He moves one hand down between his legs, fingers wrapping around his leaking cock. That leaves him supporting himself on only one arm. He manages to keep it up for three more of John’s powerful thrusts before his arm gives out and he falls back down on the bed, muffling his choked noises of pleasure into the pillow.

He sounds completely out of it. 

John wants to see his face.

Pulling out takes a Herculean effort, especially as Roger whines miserably.

“Not done with you,” John pants, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his arm, before taking Roger by the hips and promptly flipping him over on his back.

Roger’s air leave his lungs with a whoosh and he stares up at John in confusion, his eyes all black and disoriented. “John?”

John wastes no time, grips Roger’s thighs and shuffles in between them. With some prompting Roger wraps them around John’s waist.

“Wanted to see your face.” John says, taking himself in hand and guiding his cock to Roger’s opening and back inside him.

Roger throws his head back with a strangled moan, tightening around John immediately. His face is flushed, and so is his heaving chest. His cock is rock hard and when Roger again reaches down to touch himself, John intercepts him and grabs his wrist.

He catches Roger’s second wrist in his grip, too, before lifting and pressing them down over his head. Leaning over Roger like this, he’s just above his face, so close he can feel Roger’s shaky breaths on his face. So close he can see the almost betrayed look in those heavy-lidded eyes.

“Please,” Roger grunts, rolling his hips back on John’s cock and trying to get him to move. “I’m so close.”

“That you are.” John leans down to kiss the spot between his furrowed eyebrows. He grinds deeply within Roger and holds his wrists down firmly when Roger gasps and squirms in his hold. “I can feel it. You’re squeezing me so good, taking me so well.” He noses at Roger’s sweaty temple, starting to thrust slowly into him. “You were made for this, weren’t you, baby? Made to come undone on my cock. So beautiful for me.”

“Ah! Deaky, please, move.” Roger whines, arching against John as much as he can. “Please, harder, I ah… I need..”

John grins into Roger’s skin, his sweaty curls sticking to Roger’s cheek. He’s balancing on the very brink. He feels amazing.

But Roger is close to sobbing now, twisting in is grip. He’s desperate and it drives John crazy that he’s responsible for his unravelling. “I know.” He whispers. “I know what you need.” 

When he increases his tempo and starts going harder, Roger cries out, his thighs trembling on either side of John’s waist. “John!”

“You’re a fucking wet dream, you know that?” John gasps, really starting to pound his lover and pressing his lips to Roger’s to swallow his moans. 

The kiss is sloppy and messy, nothing more than uncoordinated lips and tongues meeting as they both gasp, reaching the very edge together.

John can feel his muscles tensing up, his balls tight and full. Continuing to slam into Roger for all he’s worth, he reaches down with his free hand and grabs Roger’s neglected cock.

He’s barely got his fingers around him before Roger freezes up, legs a vice around John as he arches of the mattress with a choked sob. He spills over John’s fingers and clenches around his cock and John is lost in it. In him.

“Roger…” He gasps, pressing desperate kisses to Roger’s jaw and throat, continuing to pound into him as Roger thrashes and groans.

The tension reaches a breaking point, Roger’s voice and his tight heat pushing John over the edge. He moans Roger’s name, lips pressed to his skin as he lets go, snapping his hips faster and harder, losing his rhythm as he gives in to it and just feels.

John is pretty sure he blacks out for a second or two, the overwhelming pleasure, the culmination of his longing for all these years too much for his brain to handle.

He’s slowly made aware of himself when Roger’s legs slip from his waist, falling to the mattress heavily. His face is tucked in Roger’s neck, his fingers tight around Roger’s. He can feel Roger’s heartbeat pound against his chest, can feel the slow up and down of his ribcage.

“You alive?”

Roger’s voice is raspy. John can hear the smile in it. He grunts and cuddles closer, not giving a fuck about the sticky mess between them.

Roger chuckles, then, the sweet sound making John’s already bursting heart swell even more. The other man tugs his arms free and brings them down, wrapping them lightly around John. “Can you remove your dick, please.”

John grunts again, shifting his hips to make his soft cock slip out off Roger. 

Shuddering, Roger makes a noise of distaste. “That’s so not my favourite part.”

“Hmm?”

“The dick out slip.”

“... Yeah.”

Lips press against the crown of John’s head. “Hey.”

John kisses Roger’s neck, sighing happily. “Hey.”

“You wanna go out later? Like we could get something to eat? Or a beer? If you want?”

“Mm, like a proper date?”

“Yeah, if you want to. We don’t have to or anything. Like I understand if this maybe was just… a one time thing, or if you maybe just want to keep it casual. I… Yeah.”

John lifts himself up to stare down at Roger incredulously. “Are you daft? Of course I want to go on a date with you. I want to go on many dates with you.”

An abashed but elated grin brightens Roger’s face. “Oh. Oh, good, then.”

“Good.” John grins back, kissing the tip of Roger’s nose. “Better than good, I’d say.”

Roger kisses his lips sweetly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then he sinks back down in the pillow, yawns.

John rolls off him to lie at his side, throwing his arm over Roger’s waist. He closes his eyes, ready to take a nap. He’s absolutely exhausted. Exhausted and so happy he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“So.” Roger says, tracing light patterns over John’s forearm. “You think I should give one of the potions to Freddie?” 

John pokes him in the ribs.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to share this, I was googling lube spells, like I imagine there are tons of them in different HP fics, but what I got, was this xD
> 
> _Lube magic spell - A grease spell covers a solid surface with a layer of slippery grease. Any creature in the area when the spell is cast must make a successful Reflex save or fall._
> 
> Which was not exactly what I had in mind! Hahahha


End file.
